


The Crystal Palace

by themirrordarkly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asthma, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky has a cat, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 10:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15169136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themirrordarkly/pseuds/themirrordarkly
Summary: And that was when the Winter Soldier decided to show up on Steve’s doorstep.His pale eyes stared at Steve intensely, pinning him like he’s a butterfly on display. The man swallowed a lump in his throat, grinding his back teeth, lips turning down in a frown.“I thought you were bigger.”“I was until last week.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kazuza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazuza/gifts).



> This story was written for the capreversebb!  
> I want to thank my lovely artist, kazuza, ([corinthian-13](https://corinthian-13.tumblr.com)) whose amazing art inspired this fic! And the extra art piece they did is so sweet! ♡♡ It was lovely working with you!
> 
> The art will be embedded in the fic.
> 
> I also want to thank my last minute beta, layersofsilence. You are the best!

 

 

_Steve didn't believe in fairytales. Not, really. Things didn't end happily ever after. There was no one that was going to come in and sweep him off his feet and carry him off to a magical kingdom, like Snow White in that Disney movie. It was all a crock. Everything he had to do he had to do for himself. It had nothing to do with magic. Life was serious stuff and nothing much to laugh at. He wasn't as bad off as a lot people. Sure, he was short and skinny and had a long list of illness and ailments, but he had all his limbs and wasn’t dying yet. So he had nothing to complain about really. But no one understood but Bucky. Everyone else wanted to treat him like fine china. Crystal that would break into a thousand pieces if dropped. He’s not breakable. Nothing but a bit of glue and spit to fix him up.That’s all he needed._

_Steve didn't know how much in common he had with Snow White until much later._

 

* * *

 

 

It all happened so fast. Steve, Natasha  and Sam were all in the abandoned Hydra base they had discovered. During their search, Steve was drawn to a familiar, eerie, blue glow, one he remembered from the war when the Tesseract had been in Red Skull’s evil grasp and making weapons of unimaginable horror.

“I got this,” Steve said, holding his hand up to stop Sam and Natasha from advancing any further. The object, which looked like an orb, sat in the far corner of the room. Cautiously, he approached until he stood next to it. The glow illuminated his skin and uniform in a ghastly, pale blue.

“What is it?” Sam called out.

“It looks like old Hydra tech. But it’s nothing that I've seen before.” Steve eyed it up and down. It didn't appear to have any seams, and it wasn't connected to anything.

“Maybe somebody was going through the archives and came up with something.” Natasha’s cool assessment was always appreciated.

“Just don't touch it,” Sam warned.

“Come on, Sam.” Steve let out a sigh, chuckling. “I’m not going to touch it.” He turned his head towards Sam.

But Steve found out he didn't have to touch it as the glowing orb sparked, sending a blue electrical charge dancing over his arm.

“What the…” Steve’s eyes rounded in surprise.

The orb exploded in a shower of dazzling light, blue lightning racing up his arm and over his entire body. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was no air. No air. He wanted to claw at his throat, but he was frozen. A silence scream filled his lungs. Ozone infused the very air. Sam’s and Natasha’s voices echoed in his head. He fell to his knees, reality winking out, and went unconscious.

 

Steve woke up in a hospital. That much he could figure out. Was it the private Avengers’ wing? He cracked open his eyes. Everything hurt. Even his teeth and eyeballs hurt. A straw was placed between his lips.

“Drink.” It was Natasha’s voice. It was neutral, but he caught the underlying tone. She was worried.

“Nat…” His voice sounded like broken glass.

“Shhh... Just drink.”

“How long?” He moved his head until Nat was in his vision. Even though her hair didn’t have a strand out of place and her makeup was perfect, her eyes looked tired.

“You were unconscious for two days. Tony and Bruce are running tests trying to isolate what happened.”

“Are you?”

“I'm fine. Sam's fine. You were the only one affected.” Natasha’s lips went into a thin line.

“How?”

“We found out what Hydra was working on. It was an anti-super soldier weapon.”

Steve was so thirsty and tired, so tired; he couldn't keep his eyes open.

“Rest. We'll talk later.” She patted his shoulder.

Steve lost more time and woke up in another room. This one was more like a mini apartment. It had a TV, sofa, bed which he was lying in, nice wallpaper, and didn't smell like sterile antiseptic and bleach. The scent was light sandalwood of all things. He also had to take a leak. Gingerly, he sat up and blinked. His eyes wouldn't focus, but he noticed he had an IV pole and bag next to the bed.

He swung his feet over the edge of the bed, but they didn't touch the ground. He slid off a bit more, gripping the IV pole to steady himself. Misjudging the floor as he tried to stand, he flailed around like an untethered sail. He fell in an uncoordinated heap, IV pole crashing next to him. What was wrong with him? His limbs were leaden; his breath came out shallow.

“Steve!” Sam rushed in.

“I'm alright. Only my ego’s bruised.”

“Let me help.” Sam crouched down beside him.

“I got this.” Steve tried to get up, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. No, he didn't have it. He took Sam’s assistance with a grunt and a nod.

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.”

“So what were you doing?”

“I have to take a piss.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Oh well, that's what bedpans are for.”

“I'm not going to use a goddamn bedpan,” Steve grumbled.”Just help me to the bathroom.”

“Sure, Captain Cranky Pants.”

“You have a terrible bedside manner.”

“Noted.” Sam gave a short laugh.

Steve looked up at Sam, really looked up, tilting his head back.

“How did you get so tall?”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “That's something we need to talk about.”

“Growth spurt?” Steve felt a little loopy and light-headed.

Sam shook his head, looking sad. “Just the opposite.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Sam half carried, half led him to the bathroom. When he snapped on the light, the glare stabbed at Steve’s eyes before he could focus on what was in front of him. There was Sam and him, but the him that was standing in the mirror was the 1930s him--skinny as a rail and almost a head shorter than Sam. Steve’s eyes widen and the reflection did the same.

“Well, fuck.” Steve gaped at his own reflection.

“That's about says it all,” Sam agreed, giving a sympathetic squeeze to his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

And that was when the Winter Soldier decided to show up on Steve’s doorstep.

His pale eyes stared at Steve intensely, pinning him like he’s a butterfly on display. The man swallowed a lump in his throat, grinding his back teeth, lips turning down in a frown.

“I thought you were bigger.”

“I was until last week.”

Bucky was standing no more than a foot away from him. Steve could just reach out to touch him. It wasn't a dream; he was really here. His stomach twisted up in a knot, and he nervously wetted his lips with his tongue. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn't too hard.” He ducked his eyes down, lips flatten into a line. “Someone named Wilson gave me the address.”

Now Steve felt like the idiot. Sam should have warned him. But he did, didn't he. Sam had texted today that he was going to get a special delivery from the VA. One he was waiting for. But Steve had his head so far up his ass feeling sorry for himself that he didn't put two and two together until that moment.

He’d been waiting for this day, wishing. He’d agreed to take Bucky in after his stay at the VA hospital and later therapy. They agreed when he was several inches taller and a lot heavier that he would be the right person to help Bucky acclimate himself to normal life, because he’d been through this same thing before, kinda. Being in the wrong century and all. And Steve was his friend, god dammit; he needed a place to stay and that's all there was to it. He’d do anything to help Bucky get back on his feet. He’d do the same for Steve. Well, he had in the past. And even if Bucky didn't remember that part, it didn't matter. He’d remember for the both of them.

“Is it permanent?” Bucky asked as his eyes flickered over Steve’s body with a careful, serious gaze, taking it all in or what was left after he’d became a human shrinkydink. Steve’s temperature jumped up a few degrees under those cool grey-blue eyes.

“Don’t know. Do you want to come in?”

So where was Sam? He wouldn't just dump off Bucky and run.

“How did you get here?”

“Walked.”

“All the way?” The VA was miles away from Brooklyn.

“No…” Bucky shook his head and slung his duffle bag on his shoulder higher. “Wilson is parking the car. Said something about no good parking near here.”

“Did you just leave?”

“Yeah, they said it was voluntary. The treatment. I could leave anytime I wanted, when I was ready. They weren’t holding me. I wanted to see if it was true.” Bucky shrugged.

“I could've met you there.”

“Yeah, but...just felt like walking. Being outside.”

Steve had worked out that he would watch over Bucky, giving him a stable place to stay.

So now Bucky was standing there with a duffel bag, wearing a heavy brown jacket too warm for the balmy, warm day, a baseball cap, longish brown hair falling just short for the collar of his coat. The sneakers were new, white, clean Nikes that seemed out of place with the soft worn look of the rest of the clothes.

Steve led Bucky to the room he’d cleaned out 2 months ago in preparation for this day. He’d even given it a fresh coat of paint in an earthy sandstone color which he found relaxing. It was a small guest room with a double bed, a bureau with mirror, a compact desk with a lamp and a chair. Steve opened the narrow closet to show Bucky. There were fluffy towels on the upper shelf, and on the railing hung a worn brown leather jacket, two white button-down shirts and a pair of navy dress slacks. Steve watched Bucky open each of the bureau's drawers, inspecting the contains of each one. The first one he pulled open had new underwear still in the packaging in a size Steve had guessed at and new socks. Another had a soft red sweater which Bucky laid his right hand on, testing the texture with his fingers along with a few long sleeved pullovers and t-shirts. The third contained jeans and sweatpants. The last one was empty.

Some of the clothes were Steve’s, because obviously he wasn't able to use them now. Steve needed new clothes desperately. The only thing that fit him were his shoes. He’d always had big feet.

Bucky searched around - more like stalked around like a panther - peering in all the corners and under the bed until he was satisfied that everything was safe. It broke Steve's heart that Bucky couldn't dial down his heightened state of alertness, that he was on guard and vigilant at all times. It must have been exhausting. Bucky turned to Steve seemingly satisfied. He stared at him for a moment before speaking.

“I need a litter box and cat food,” he said in that quiet, low voice of his.

“Why?” The request surprised Steve.

“I have a cat.”

As if on cue, his doorbell rang. Steve went to open the front door. There was Sam standing there looking hurried, holding a pet carrier in one hand and a file of papers in the other.

“Hey, did our wayward old man get here yet?”

“Yeah, he’s checking out his room.”

“Good, good,” Sam broke out in a smile. “He gave me the slip when I was parking the car. Tricky bastard.”

“I’ll take note.” Steve waved in Sam and shut the door.

The other man walked to the kitchen and set the file on the table. “I'd like to go over this with you. It’s for the care and feeding of the guy stalking around your home.”

“And what’s that?” Steve nodded to the carrier.

“Oh, this is Becca. Barnes’s cat.” Sam placed it down near the table. “They are a matched set. I’d have him take her out, unless you want to have your hands shredded.”

“Wonderful. So…” Steve motioned at the cat in the carrier again, because there was more to Sam’s explanation. Steve never had a pet before. Well, technically she was Bucky's, but still he’d have to get used to her. They were all going to be living under the same roof.

“Barnes found the stray near the VA. Took a shine to her and now they are inseparable. Think of her as a therapy animal. They’re good for each other.”

Steve nodded.

“So we're good here?” Sam raised an eyebrow, questioning. “It’s okay if you want to change your mind. When you agreed to this arrangement you…”

Steve cut him off. “Look, Sam. I’m ready. I want to do this. And even though I don't look the same, I feel the same. I want to help out.”

“Good.” Sam nodded and pulled out a chair. “Go get your guy in here. I’d like to go over a few things with you together.” He tapped the file.

The days went something like this: Bucky didn't leave his room except to eat and go to the bathroom. He didn't talk but for a few words to Steve. The meals were mostly silent with Bucky carefully staring at him, as if he was processing something in his brain. After a period of one week, Bucky seemed to make up his mind about something.

They were sitting on the sofa in the living room, side by side but a good twelve inches apart. The bluray of ‘Aladdin’ was showing on Steve flat screen TV on the wall. They were going though Steve’s Disney collection one at a time. Currently, Aladdin and Jasmine were flying around on a carpet singing “A Whole New World.”

“You need new clothes.” Bucky’s eyes were still glued to the screen, his right hand digging around the popcorn bowl on his lap.

Steve turned his head to glare a little at Bucky. Because _really,_ Bucky was interrupting one of his favorite scenes.

“No _kidding_ ,” Steve said.

“I can help you shop online.”

“What?” Was he really having this conversation now?

“Take your measurements so you don't have to.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sure, why not.”  He’d nothing to lose in agreeing.

The answer must have been the correct one, because he was rewarded with a tentative smile. Bucky pushed his bowl of popcorn towards Steve.

“Want some popcorn?”

Steve dipped his hand in and munched on the handful as he turned to watch the rest of the movie.

Something about this was familiar as he sat there chewing on his popcorn, but Steve couldn't place it at the moment. He wasn't sure what to make of it. But Steve would roll with it, because whatever put a smile on Bucky’s face had to be good.

The next day, Steve realized he’d never seen Bucky’s cat. He knew she existed because Sam brought her, and he saw Bucky emptying the used kitty litter and the cat food disappearing. Steve wasn't sure who was taking care of whom. It was confusing Steve on so many different levels.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first time in forever, Steve came down with a cold. It started with a sore throat, then progressed to a runny nose, stuffy congestion and a nasty cough.

On the first morning of his sore throat, after he’d complained about it being scratchy the evening before, Steve found a tin of Sucrets sore throat lozenges in wild cherry on his bed stand near his cell phone. They reminded Steve of the old tins of his youth. He opened up the tin. Instead of finding them all individually wrapped, they were all in foil, in plastic little bubbles. He quickly popped one out and placed it in his mouth, hoping the cherry and antiseptic would soothe his rough throat. It worked a little as he slowly sucked on the dissolving bit of candied medicine.

When the sniffles and first cough came that afternoon, he was trying to remember why he didn't work with charcoal sticks. Oh yeah, the mess it made. He had smudged his fingers as well as his arms and his face with the sooty mess. Steve gave a ragged cough into the corner of his elbow, trying to stifle it, and Bucky was at the doorway to his studio a minute later, looking all soft with a white henley shirt and faded blue jeans and no socks. He just stood there, blinking very slowly at him until he lifted his right hand and pointed to the bathroom.

“Bathroom.” Bucky’s lips mouthed the word quietly and Steve obeyed.

When he set to wash up, he glanced up at his reflection. He managed to get the charcoal smeared on his face more than he realized. He resembled a deranged raccoon with the charcoal under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His hair was sticking up to from running his hand through it at one point. He smoothed it down with a wetted comb and scrubbed his face clean. The unmistakable scent of simmering chicken soup wafted into the bathroom. His mouth watered and his stomach grumbled. Steve realized he only had some oatmeal and fruit that morning and little else. His appetite wasn't like it used to be. But this smell reminded him of his childhood, and it was a good, nostalgic, warm feeling.

Steve’s nose followed the scent to the kitchen. Bucky was setting the table with two bowls, flatware and a plate in the center with a loaf of french bread. Mesmerized at the domestic scene, Steve shuffled his feet over to his chair, sat down and scooted it up to the table as Bucky began to ladle a generous helping of the hearty soup into the bowl in front of him.

Absently, Steve noticed Bucky’s hair was piled up in a twisted knot so it wouldn't be in the way. It was both cute and sexy, and he wasn't sure why his mind went in that direction, but it did. He ducked his head as his cheeks burned in a blush. Chicken, potatoes, sprigs of green and bits of orange swirled in the broth before him. It didn't look exactly like the soup his Mom made with the homemade noodles, or the time Bucky tried to copy his Mom’s recipe. No, this was different, but regardless, it looked amazingly tasty.

Steve glanced up and noticed Bucky was looking at him expectantly with his own spoon hovering over his bowl in front of him. He had sat down across from him and was staring at him. Not a cold stare, but there was a soft fuzzy emotion behind them, or so Steve imagined because he felt his heart float in giddiness.

“You're going to try it?” Bucky he said in his soft, deep voice.

Steve took a spoonful.

“I had to use spinach. Sorel is too hard to find in New York.” Bucky mumbled under his breath as if to apologize and explain the leafy greens.

Even with his stuffed up nose, Steve noted the garlic, allspice and onion tastes with a touch of lemon, maybe? It was delicious. Steve dug in like a starving man.

“This is great, Buck,” Steve said in between mouthfuls.

“I know it's not the same,” Bucky said, dunking a hunk of the bread into his soup.

“I like it. So where'd you get the recipe?”

Bucky's eyebrows knitted together, a little creasing line forming in between his brow as he frowned, gazing at the soup. Steve's heart started to sink as his own frown came. Did he misstep? Say something wrong?

“Buck?” Steve willed his voice not to tremble as he gripped his soup spoon tight.

Bucky just shook his head as if to knock loose the delicate cobwebs in his brain and raised his pale silver eyes to peer at Steve. Tapping his left metal finger to his temple, he spoke.

“It was up here. Learned it from a nice old lady in Ukraine. It's Russian. I mean, Ukrainian. Does it matter?” Bucky’s voice was soft and questioning.

“No, Buck.” Steve’s lips drew into a small smile. “Can I have some more?”

A light behind Bucky's eyes glowed as the corners of his lips flicked up in a quick, crooked smile. “Sure, anything for a pal.”

And Steve’s smile grew wider as a rush of happiness warmed his insides just like the soup he tasted.

Steve found out later that Bucky made enough soup for ten servings. They had that soup for the next three days.

* * *

 

After one month, Steve saw Bucky's cat for the first time since she arrived. Bucky was reading with his feet up on the coffee table, completely engrossed in one of Harry Potter’s adventures. This one was ‘The Prisoner of Azkaban’. Steve wasn't too thrilled with Bucky’s feet up on the table, but he was in socks this time. His hand kept turning each page slowly as his tongue darted out to wetten his lips. After each page turn his hand went down to his side. It was gently stroking a small black, round ball of fur. As Steve walked by, the cat’s head lifted up to stare at him with the biggest green eyes he’d ever seen.

He melted into that gaze, before Bucky’s thumb brushed softly over her cheeks. And she started purring like a little engine. He could hear it clearly, as he had his good left ear turned that way.

Bucky was cautiously, over time, staying less in his room, behind a closed door. He was venturing out, exploring or just sitting in the living room reading. Steve was grateful Bucky was feeling more comfortable, putting his trust in him to feel more relaxed, enough so that he’d noticed his interactions with Becca.  


	4. Chapter 4

Steve called Natasha a few times a week. Mostly to keep in the loop with the Avengers and the hunt for Hydra. And also to ask how it was going with finding a way to reverse what happened to him.

“Still no word?” Steve thought this call needed to be a regular call. He wasn't sure how exactly he would go about texting what he was going to request.

“No, these things take time. And Steve, for what it’s worth, we do miss you here. Tony won’t admit it, but he isn’t happy he can’t practice anymore of his bad puns on you.”

“I bet.” Steve gave a short laugh. “Do they need anything else from me? I feel like a human pincushion with all the blood draws.”

“Afraid, not. So how’s it going with you and Barnes?”

“Good. Nothing that I can't handle.”

“Was there anything else?” And Natasha could read him so well. He knew she was raising one perfectly arched eyebrow right now.

“The other thing is I've been thinking. Since we don't know the time table on this problem. I've been itching to get back in the field in some capacity even with this old body of mine.” Steve drew in a breath and let it out. Here it goes. “I’m asking you for a favor here. I’d like you to train me.”

“I was waiting for you to ask. Thought it'd be sooner. Barnes keeping you that busy?”

“Haha. So when can I start?” Steve was practically vibrating inside over this new endeavor.

“Tomorrow. I'll clear a place that Shield used to use to train.” She sent a text with the address.

"And don't forget to bring water. Stay hydrated, that's my motto.”

“Thanks Natasha, you're the best.”

“Of course I am.”

They started slowly on centering techniques. Yoga, to get him to know his body again. Then the basics of Aikido. To use one's force against them. It was all leverage, throws and joint locks. It consisted of overall body conditioning but not much strength building. It was more dealing with quickness. It was a softer technique than he was used to, but he was willing to try it. It would be good for at least the conditioning that he needed to learn any other fighting techniques.

This went on for at least two weeks before Bucky found out what he was doing. Natasha had just left the gym. Steve was doing some cool downs, his body aching but in a good way. He could feel himself getting a little stronger. During the sessions, he was keeping an eye on his asthma. To not let it bother him when he was exercising, he made sure he kept his medicine close by. He hadn't had any wheezing since his cold, and he was pretty proud of that.

Packing up his duffle bag, Steve turned to go when he ran into Bucky standing like a statue modeling a soft hoodie and sweatpants.

“You followed me?” Steve huffed out, raising his eyebrows. Steve didn't know whether to be insulted, worried or confused.

Bucky gave a quick nod, shuffling one of his toes of his boots. “Just this once.”

“Is there something wrong?” Steve decided on to settle on worried as the way to look at this.

Bucky frowned even more, his eyebrows pinched together, jaw tightening.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“What is it?” Steve stepped forward toward Bucky, ready to take on any problems he had.

“You're here; it's wrong.” Bucky’s eyes blazed with an unreadable emotion as he glared at him.

“Why is that, Buck?” Steve squared his thin shoulders, standing up straight. His temper was on a sudden slow simmer, becoming defensive. Was this an old pattern, or what? Bucky disapproving of something he did, being overly protective or was it just concern? He didn't need it.

Steve was playing it all around in his head getting angrier by the second,  but he was jerked out of his thoughts with Bucky’s next words.

“I...I can help you.” Bucky was frowning at the floor.

“Huh?” Steve’s anger diffusing with his confusion.

“Help, teach you.” Bucky was peering at him now, eyes wide, sucking at his upper lip so that it all but disappeared.

“Natasha's helping me.”

“But it's what I'm good at. Fighting. I like to help.”

And Steve’s heart cracked right down the middle. Of course, Bucky knew more than fighting. He was a great cook, good with animals and knew his way around the Internet better than he did. And that was just for starters.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know you wanted to be involved with my stubbornness...foolishness.” Steve shook his head, then smooth his hair in a little nervous gesture.

“It's not foolish. Stubborn, yes.” Bucky tilted his head to the side, giving a faint smile.

“Yes.” Steve gave his own tentative smile.

“I wanted to know you. All of you. I knew you. But if you need your space like my ‘away time’.”

"We can work something out. Get a feeling for our boundaries. I’d like you to help but not today. But in a few days. I'm pretty wiped right now.”

“Nat is a tiger,” Bucky said rocking back on his feet, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Well, she is focused and relentless,” Steve agreed. His muscles could tell that.

“I am a bear.”

“Is that better?” Steve blinked, now he was imagining Nat as a cat and Bucky as a bear.

“No, just different.” And he slid his hands in his coat pockets of his hoodie and smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve slumped towards his bed, shuffling his feet. He was so tired after a long day. Exercise was hard work. His body was a dead battery. He wasn’t turbo charged anymore. His bed was a mess, the duvet and sheets tangled in a ball. He hadn’t slept well last night and it showed--even forgetting to make his bed. He tried to smooth out the sheets, running his hands over the wrinkles.

“Meow?”

The tiny noisy fluff was in the blanket nest.

“Becca?” The black cat, eyes large and green, poked its nose out curiously at the rustling of the blanket.

Steve coaxed the cat out, and sat down on the bed next to her.

“Well, hello there.” He stroked the fur behind her ears. “Now, how did you end up here?”

The sneeze came suddenly. He turned away from Becca. His eyes felt itchy, just before another sneeze.

Bucky appeared by the door, eyes wide and wild, lips parting before swallowing thickly. “I didn't know.”

“Bucky, it's okay. I like Becca. We’re getting along fine.” Steve pasted on a smile. To prove his point, he picked her up and hugged her to his chest, ignoring the tiny needles that came out quick to cling to his shirt.

Becca let out a muffled _eerrrrring_ sound, not sure how to balance herself, and bumped her head under Steve’s chin, clicking his teeth together. His bony fingers threaded through her fur to steady her.

“It's okay, really.”

“Steve…” Bucky frowned.

“I'll get a prescription. It'll be okay.”

“I can give her to Sam.”

“No. No, she's a part of this home. You need her and love her. Becca stays,” Steve said, firmly.

Steve couldn’t let Bucky do that. His heart ached at how unhappy Bucky was. Becca was Bucky’s lifeline, his therapy. And Steve wouldn't interfere with that. Besides, Steve loved the black ball of fur already, the warmth of a little purring engine which was squirming because he was holding too tight.

He relaxed his grip taking a deep breath and sneezed again.

Bucky reached over to pluck Becca out of his hands, and the loss of warmth and softness left him in bereavement. It tightened his body, his throat, constructing. It wasn't his allergies or asthma making his throat close up; it was the loss of something.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky shrunk into himself, shoulders hunching as he carefully held Becca.

“God, Bucky no. It's not that.” Steve’s body was a silent scream. He didn't want this act of kindness to end badly.

“I love her,” Steve simply said. He looked over at Bucky willing him to see his sincerity.

“You do?” Bucky's voice was small, but hopeful.

“Yeah, Buck. Thanks for letting me hold her.”


	5. Chapter 5

Steve should have known better. That he was pushing himself, but he'd been healthy for years now. And to be suddenly sickly again, he could easily miss the early warning signs of an asthma attack. He was losing sleep at night, tossing and turning all because he was having trouble breathing. But he chalked that up to nightmares that he couldn't remember upon awakening.

It happened when he decided to take Bucky out for a short lunch. They, well, Bucky was cooped up too long inside so a little fresh air was good? Wrong. He forgot about the pollen. The pollen count was high. Normally, not a problem, but he had a nagging wheezing right after exercise that went away quickly so he didn't think anything of it.

The place Steve picked, The Small Sweet Cafe, was the definition of cozy, set in an out of the way area on Hoyt St. It was mostly residential in Boerum Hill with trees and rows of brownstones. Steve had been here with Natasha so knew the place wasn't crowded, especially on a Tuesday afternoon. It had an old feel, but with all the latest blends of coffees and espresso, along with pastries and crepes.

They sat at one of the five tables the cafe had. The outside world was closed off for a while. They didn't have any wifi. It was posted on a sign, by the menu board that hung by the counter. The walls displayed local artwork and mirrors to give the illusion the place was bigger than it was.

Bucky was sitting across from him, scanning the menu. He was dressed casual in a rust colored t-shirt and worn brown leather jacket which pulled distractingly tight across his wide shoulders. His hair was pulled back in a simple, short bun. Bucky brushed a stray strand of hair, pushing it back behind his ear as he continued to study the selections.

Steve managed to finally get some clothes that fit and was in khakis and a pullover green hoodie.

“Do you see anything you like?” Steve had already decided on the house brewed coffee and the strawberry and Nutella crepe. He remembered he had no allergies to strawberries so it was a safe selection.

Bucky glanced up, eyes rounding a bit comically. “Did you see the prices?” Bucky lowered his voice to a staged whisper.

“Don’t look at the prices, just the food.” Steve sighed. “Everything is expensive in Brooklyn, especially this close to the Heights.”

“I remember coffee use to be a nickel. It’s a weird thing to remember.” Bucky frown.

“A dozen eggs were 18 cents.” Steve deadpanned, trying to keep his face serious.

“Why are you like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Competitive.” Bucky’s lips quirked up in amusement.

Steve sat back in his chair. “I don't think I am.” Was he?

“I’ll have the ham crepe and espresso.” Bucky pushed the menu away.

Steve placed their order at the front corner.

They ate and talked. Bucky was being more open. He explained about how he found Becca and coaxed her to trust him. Steve hung on every word, because he wanted to know everything he missed when they were apart.

He ignored a building pressure on his chest as the meal went on. He chalked it up to being excited and having his old heart murmur back.  

Afterwards, they walked down the narrow street, taking in the warm day. Steve stopped at a storefront of a book store and peered in the window. He wanted to remember this place for later. They specialised in first editions. Bucky took his hand and pulled him away from the shop. It startled Steve to be holding Bucky’s hand, but he soon settled into how his warm palm and fingers slotted so perfectly with Bucky’s.

“I like this,” Bucky said, squeezing his hand gently.

“Me too.” Steve lookup at Bucky, smiling. Steve didn't question or wonder. He knew this felt right.

The further they walked the heavier the pressure on his chest felt.

“Buck, I got to sit down somewhere.” Steve’s breath wheezed. The attack was coming on fast, and he was unprepared. The trees, flowers, everything green, was becoming his enemy now.

“Steve?” Bucky’s face pinched in worry.

“It's okay,” Steve patted Bucky’s chest. “Notthh...ing to worry…” Steve couldn't catch his breath. His skin was clammy and pale.

“Steve!”

Steve felt himself being bodily lifted up and carried, pressed up against Bucky’s strong chest. He wanted to be put down, but he couldn’t find his voice. He was jostled around as Bucky took off running. Steve’s hand desperately fumbled in his pocket for the inhaler he was carrying.

“Down...put me...” Steve’s lungs sounded like an accordion.

Bucky finally set him down on a park bench. How far did he run? There wasn’t a park for blocks. Steve ducked his head between his legs coughing. Bucky began rubbing circles on his back. He clutched his inhaler in his hand and passed it to Bucky.

Bucky fitted it in Steve’s mouth and pressed the button, once, twice.

The first one missed his throat and a bitter chemical taste filled his mouth. The second worked and he could feel it working to relieve the pressure. Bucky continued to rub his back. He hated feeling so helpless, hated that his body was betraying him again and he hated being coddled. His anger at himself choked at him just as much as his asthma attack. He jerked away from Bucky’s touch.

Steve tipped his chin up, scowling. “Stop. I'm not going to break.” His voice scratchy and hoarse.

“Everybody breaks, Steve. It's what you do afterwards, picking up the bloody pieces and putting them back together again.” Bucky let out a sigh, before gazing at him, his eyes serious as he measured each word he spoke. “It's what you do after.”

Steve stared at Bucky, eyes growing wide. It hit him like a runaway train. Crashing over him, the wind rushing by, reaching, reaching, reaching, his hand empty as it all slips away. Steve swallowed back a ragged gasp, turning his head away.

“I'm sorry.” The words fall from Steve’s trembling lips. He clenched his fists. There was nothing to fight. Nothing but the awful sorrow and guilt that ripped through him.

“What you're sorry for? You’ve got nothing to feel sorry for.”

“But I do. I do.”

“If you think that's true, move on from it-- let it go.”

“How?”

“I don't have that answer yet. Working on it.” Bucky gave a wane smile, ducking his head rubbing the back of his neck.

“We are a pair.” Steve shook his head.

“A matched set.”

“Hate to break it up.”

“So don't. You can't get rid of me that easy.”

“I don't want to.”

They sat on the park bench together for the next half an hour until Steve’s breathing became easier again.


	6. Chapter 6

”Bucky, do you need clean towels?” Steve poked his head in. Bucky was still in the shower. If he could just sneak in. He heard  the familiar sound of the water being turned off. Steve quickly tried to duck out.

“You could hand me a towel,” Bucky said.

Steve jumped a little before starting to turn around.

“Don’t look though--close your eyes.”

Steve blindly handed him the towel. “Why can't I look?” Steve meant it to be teasing. “Why?” He made a dramatic gesture of peeking but not peeking, and received a light rap on the head. And opened his eyes, blinking.

Bucky had finished tying the towel on to his lower half. He looked fresh and clean.

“Cause I'm ug…” Bucky closed his mouth in a thin line, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

“Ugly?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky turned his head away, eyes downcast on the wet linoleum floor, damp hair swinging to obscure half his face.

“Is that what you were going to say?” Steve moved a step closer. Tension was radiating off Bucky, his shoulders rigid.

Steve couldn't leave this lie. He wanted to help. Help Bucky realize he wasn’t ugly to him. And maybe help him believe it.

Bucky let out a shuddering breath. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah, yeah it does,” Steve said.

“Why?” Bucky asked, the word fell flat, echoless in the tiny bathroom. The walls refusing to voice the quiet whisper. Steve reached out to touch Bucky’s chin, running his fingertips over the rough jawline, guiding Bucky's gaze towards him.

“Do you trust me?”

“That's not the point.”

“It is. Do you?”

Bucky breathed out slow, his words catching. “Yes...yes I do.”

“Let me see, please.”

“I…” Bucky hesitated then nodded once in resolution and turned his body towards Steve. His skin was still damp and clean from the shower, his hair dripping tiny drops of water on his shoulders, trailing rivets down his chest and back.

Steve’s eyes took in Bucky’s shoulders. The wide spans, the broad chest that tapered down to a thick waist. His abdominals were defined to perfection.

His hands hovered just above the upper arms, the thick biceps, the veins trailing down his arms.

“Can, I?”

Bucky stilled, shallowing. “Yes.”

Resting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, his fingers gently moved over each one, noting the differences, the sameness. It was a map, one Steve wanted to pour over, study it so he could find the correct path to follow. While his left fingers brushed over smooth skin, his right explored a roughen valley of bumps and grooves. The scar tissue was raised around the metal arm, some red, some white, radiating out in a pattern which trailed over his shoulder, chest, back.

“Does it hurt?” Steve asked.

“It always hurts,” Bucky said.

Steve frowns.  “A lot?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not all the time. The steam from the shower helps it.”

“And now?”

“It's not so bad. Like a dull toothache. It's there but kind of like background noise.”

Steve had a sudden idea.“Will a massage help?”

“I don't know. I mean the shower pulsing spray feels good when I used it.”

“Want to try?” Steve said.

“I'm game for it.” Bucky gave a tight smile, a little unsure.  “Whatcha got in mind?”

“You’ll see.” And Steve was going on pure impulse now. Plowing ahead like only he could do. He had just bought some peppermint massage oil for his own aching joints, and was planning to add it to some jojoba oil to use. He needed something after Natasha’s lessons. His muscles were sore and achy, and it was something he wasn't use to.

“Let me take care of you,” Steve said.

He took Bucky’s hand and lead him back into his bedroom. Steve’s bedroom. Bucky hesitated at the threshold to the room, biting at his bottom lip. Steve realized he’d never been properly invited in here. With a gentle tug he encouraged Bucky forward. The room was painted in a soft blue, the queen size bed on a wrought iron frame with a colorful patchwork handmade quilt spread over it. The furniture was solid oak, some secondhand that he’d picked up at the local thrift stores and fixed up and polished which seemed like ages ago.

Steve lead Bucky up to the bed before slowly turning him around, inching closer to him so he had to back up, until his legs hit the mattress. He placed his right hand, spaying his fingers wide, on Bucky's bare chest. The skin was warm, the muscle gave a small jump at his touch before stilling.

“Lay down.”  Steve gave it a gentle shove which he knew wouldn't budge anyone, let alone Bucky. But he artlessly fell backwards onto the mattress, opening his arms as if to wordlessly say take me--I'm here. It was an open gesture of trust. A gift that had Steve's heart soaring with emotion.

Steve readied the oil next to the nightstand and dipped his fingers into the tingling peppermint oil and base.

“How do you want me?” Bucky looked up through his eyelashes.

“Just like that.” Steve climbed up on the bed so he could do this properly.

“It might be a little cool because of the mint, but it’ll warm up fast.”

Bucky nodded and stretched his arms over his head, lacing his fingers behind his head. “How’s this?”

And it he didn’t know any better he’d think Bucky was flirting a little. Showing off like a peacock like he used to back when they were growing up, and he’d have all the girls (and Steve) flocking to him.

Steve swallowed a lump in his throat. “It’s perfect, Buck.” Cause it was, all that stretched out honed muscle. It made his heart thump faster, his breath catching in his throat. He was blushing, he knew it, and he could feel the stirring heat of his erection. Please don’t let his body do something embarrassing. He always was attracted to Bucky, he’d just been better at hiding it in the past.

Bucky’s eyes were wide and gray, silver kissed with blue. Wary yet steady in their stare. Not closed off like blank mirrors, like he’d seen before. Seen so often now as Steve remembered-- back in the war after the rescue (but what was it?). And he’d seen Bucky's gaze off in the distance seeing but not seeing. There was a hollowness in that past stare. A cold emptiness with his eyes chips of ice, ice that melted like snow as Steve touched him--more like a caress than a massage. It wasn't that long ago, yet a lifetime. Was it four years or was it seventy? Steve didn't know, didn't care all the years blurred to this one moment.

It all fell away in the soft glow of the lamp light and the murmur of night traffic from the street. The world hushed as their breaths mingled. Bucky was here. Working his fingers in small circles, Steve ran his hands over his expansive chest that rose and fell, so much more than the past. The war had been unkind to Bucky--the weight loss to sinew, bone and muscle. But now the serum--the word flickered in his mind like a poison lick of a viper. The serum was both a blessing and a curse. But it brought Bucky, back to him so, he’d take that mixed blessing and cherish it. The same yet a different version, without the vita-rays--unlike Steve’s yet alike. But it was all faded from Steve's body now. Gone in an instant and at this moment he didn't miss it, because Bucky was here--so open and so accepting.

Bucky’s skin shivered under his touch as he glided his hands over the hard, ridged muscle that was covered with suppleness.The minty oil absorbing in, sliding over it all. A body built for power like a powder keg ready to explode into action. His thick waist and chest, his abdominals flexing with each breath.

“You're beautiful,” Steve whispered, low and quiet. He couldn't help but say it, so caught up in the moment they were sharing.

Bucky glanced at him and looked away, biting at his lower lip,

“I mean it.”

“Steve…” came the disbelieving tone in Bucky's voice.

“You are, were and always will be.”

“Sweet talker.” Bucky reached up his right hand to caress Steve’s cheek, running his thumb over his lower lip. “So much sugar in that vinegar." Bucky had a drowsy sated look, his eyes half closed. A peaceful little smile on his lips.

Steve’s tongue daringly darted out to taste the salt off Bucky’s thumb. It was so natural, he did it without a thought.

“So sweet like candy, like a sour lemon drop.”

“Sour lemon?” Steve made a face, then playfully suck out his tongue.

“Yeah sweet and tart. Kiss me, you fucking tease. You know you want to.” Bucky’s hand slide behind Steve’s head, urging him to come closer.

“Not yet.” Steve answered with a shaky laugh. Both hands coming to grip Bucky’s shoulders. “We have all night.” And he wanted to so bad, his insides trembled--he could taste it. Taste Bucky.

Bucky let out a groan, rolling his eyes. “I might not last.”

“Maybe...maybe,” Steve stuttered, than gave a bright smile his fingers of his left hand drifting through Bucky’s hair as it lay spread out on the pillow. “Maybe you don't have to.”

Steve leaned down and captured Bucky’s lips in a soft kiss. He pulled back and stared at Bucky’s reaction.

“Do it again.” Bucky smiled, his steel blue eyes soft.

Steve did it again, and Bucky reached up to cradle his head, deepening the kiss, nibbling at his bottom lip. He then seized control of the kiss, rolling them over. Now Bucky was over Steve, his elbows resting on the mattress, body hovering a hair’s breadth away from Steve’s. The body heat radiating through Steve to his core, to his heart.

And it was everything, his whole world stopped spinning when they kissed. He could do this forever. His heart was so full. He loved this man.

They did nothing more than kiss, before Bucky hugged Steve close, spooning around him, drawing him into a safe cocoon, nosing into his hair, kissing the shell of his ear.

“This is nice.” Bucky’s voice sounded sleepy and relaxed.

“Yeah, it is.” Steve kissed the palm of Bucky’s left metal hand, before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning Steve woke up to a heavy weight against him. Bucky was quietly snoring, his left arm flung over him as well as his leg. His face slacked jawed and peaceful.  Steve ran his fingers down Bucky's metal arm; the smooth metal plates locked close, the ridges smooth.

“Don't.” Bucky’s eyes were now open, staring at Steve’s hand.

“Don't what.”

“Catch your finger.”

“Would it be a little like pinching my finger in a drawer?”

“Maybe?”

“What? That's nothing maybe a little bruised.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“That's my call and it won't be on purpose.”

The cool metal was balm to Steve’s hand as he circled his hand around Bucky’s left wrist. “It’s a part of you and I accept that. I'm not worried about this.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“Never backed down yet.”

“I remembered that.”

“The roles are switched now.”

“How did this happen, you and I?

“Destiny? I don't know. All I know is this feels right.” Steve kissed Bucky’s chest. “Let’s not tempt fate.”


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Fate did step in.

The next day Natasha called Steve.

“I’m going to have to postpone our training session.”

“Why?”

“I’m coming over. Make sure Barnes is there too.” Steve made eye contact with Bucky when he disconnected the phone.

“Natasha is coming over so I think we’d better start digging into those pancakes. They look great.”

Bucky leaned over to give a quick kiss to him. Steve wasn't sure he’d ever get over last night. It was magical, like a fairytale but real.

Natasha showed up after they were done eating the blueberry pancakes Bucky made and cleaning up. It was a special morning which deserved a special breakfast.

Steve poured the coffee, and they all sat down at the kitchen table.

“I'm going to get right to the point. Two days ago, Brock Rumlow escaped the prison hospital he was being held at. He had help.” She took a sip of her coffee, then looked at Steve. “This is really good coffee.”

“Two days?” Steve glanced at Bucky ignoring Natasha’s coffee comment. Bucky was sitting still as a stone statue, his expression shuttered, eyes flat. Ice. There was ice in his eyes again.

Steve reached a hand under the table, and found Bucky's hand and entangled his fingers into his, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“He was last seen heading for Colorado with the people who helped break him out.”

“What do you know that is out there?” Steve asked.

There is an abandoned gold mine.” Bucky spoke and Steve glanced at him again. “Hydra’s been known to work out it.”

Bucky was all business. The morning kisses and pancakes in the distant past.

Steve frowned and turned back to Natasha.

“Who do you have on it?”

“We're going to be light. The rest of the Avengers have jetted off to Paris to fight against a giant space amoeba. It’s all over CNN."

“And you're not there?” Steve raised his eyebrows.

“I called in sick,” she said after she set down her coffee mug, giving a tight little smile. “This is important, Steve. He has to be stopped. It will be me, Sam and you, if you're in.”

Steve nodded.

Natasha turned her attentions to Bucky. “Barnes, I'm not going to lie; I don't trust you, yet.”

Bucky stiffen, his lips forming a thin line.

“But your expertise will come in handy.”

“Don't take it personally, Buck. She doesn't trust anybody.”

“Steve, you're ruining my image of not caring,” Natasha quipped. 

“I'm in,” Bucky said.

“Me too,” Steve echoed Bucky’s sentiments.

An impish smile spread across her lips. “I thought so.  I need to get something I brought with me.” She went out to her car and came back with two large garment bags.

“You're going to need these.” She rested each one over a kitchen chair.

Steve unzipped the one closest to him. It was an old modified Shield uniform. It appeared to be Steve’s exact size.

“Can't fight a war without a uniform.” Steve said as Natasha was pulling out a small rectangle box. She handed it to him. It was a little heavy so he set it down. Flipping it opened it revealed, nestled in velvet, two widow-bite bracelets and a Glock 38.

“Call it an early Christmas present.” Natasha gave a warm smile.

Bucky unzipped his, and it looked like his Winter Soldier tac gear. Bucky bit at his lower lip before nodding once. “Let's do this.”

“Suit up,” Steve said. Steve reaching out to squeeze Bucky’s hand. “Together.”

The hardlines of Bucky’s face soften. “Together.” He raised Steve's hand to his lips and planted a small kiss on his knuckles. “We’ll knock them dead.”

“Just like old times.” Steve smiled. He had the Prince he wanted in Bucky, because this was his happily ever after.

 


End file.
